Just like Fred
by FBI Bones
Summary: “It was normality for them, colleagues died all the time, but not like this. None of them were innocent none of them had never done anything to deserve such a punishment. None of them were Fred” WesleyFred. Post Shells.


**Just like Fred**

**Disclaimer: The show is property of Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt and Mutant Enemy and it seems anyone who isn't me. The song is property of Faith Hill and is called There'll You'll be**

**Summary: "It was normality for them, colleagues died all the time, but not like this. None of them were innocent; none of them had never done anything to deserve such a punishment. None of them were Fred" Wesley/Fred. Post Shells.**

**Author's Notes One: The photograph mentioned in this does not (as far as I know) exist in the Angel-verse so it's kinda my own creation but it fitted so I used it.**

**Author's Notes Two: I also can't remember whether Wesley stills has his apartment or whether he lives at Wolfram & Hart, for convenience sake he lives at the Firm.**

Wesley turned in the doorway and looked back at the now empty room. The white walls no longer bearing the framed photographs of the Texan family, the desk devoid of it's usual clutter, no papers strewn across it, no pens littering the many surfaces. The coffee mug missing. And most importantly, the vacant chair.

Forcing the lump in his throat down he picked up the cardboard box that held every possession that was now missing from the room and pulled the door closed.

He turned and surveyed the deserted science lab, his eyes becoming hazy but still he refused to let loose and cry, if he cried then that would mean it was true. She was really gone, and he wasn't quite ready to accept that, the logical part of him told him that now Illyria was here Fred could no longer be but the less logical side, the side that had fallen for the Texan the hardest, the side that had won through in the end of a tormenting battle between logic and love told him there was still hope. He could still save her. He just had to try. Just because everyone else had given up hope didn't mean he had too.

_When I think back on these times, _

_And the dreams we left behind,_

_I'll be glad 'coz I was blessed to get to have you in my life,_

Shaking his head he left the lab hurriedly, the whole department reminded him of her, the smell of her perfume, the way her hair shimmered in the light, the ways her eyes lit up whenever she saw a member of the team, namely him. The smile that had graced her lips from her return to the states 'til she'd lain trembling and dying in his arms.

He tightened his hold on the box and strode across the lobby, swallowing nervously as he saw Spike sat on the stairs. But grateful when the vampire didn't even raise his head to acknowledge his presence, simple continued to stare at the floor with a dazed look on his face as if he too were unable to wrap his mind around the fact Fred was gone.

He felt a pang of what could only be described as anger at that point, no one had the right to mourn Fred the way he did, no one loved her as much as he did. He quickly ignored that thought. The girl was adored by all around her; she'd bring a smile to anyone's face simply by walking into the room. She stayed up day and night for days trying to figure out a way to make Spike corporeal again only to have her efforts thwarted when Pavayne had made his presence known but still she'd laboured on. Spike had saved her life even when he barely knew her, forsaking what had seemed, at the time, his only chance of becoming solid again so she could live.

He paused on he step above the one Spike was sitting on and opened his mouth to say something but no sound came out. Only a faint choking noise when his thoughts brought back the image of the empty lab, it's lights turned off, the sarcophagus he hadn't had the gaul to look at as he left the department still there, where the delivery men had left it less than twenty four hours ago. The sarcophagus that had held the deadly virus that had so brutally murdered the love of his life. Because that was what Illyria was a virus, a demon . . . a murderer. An unfeeling, sadistic murderer that not only had the nerve to horrifically gut and hollow out an innocent young woman for it to inhabit but to parade round wearing her face without a care in the world.

_When I look back on these days,_

_I'll look and see your face,_

_You right there for me,_

He tried again to speak but he couldn't think of what to say and seeing as Spike was yet to even move since Wesley had appeared he saw no reason to disturb him and continued his steady ascent.

He was barely aware of walking along the corridor of his department, subconsciously dodging fellow employees who either didn't know or didn't care that Fred had passed away. It was normality for them, colleagues died all the time, but not like this. None of them were innocent; none of them had never done anything to deserve such a punishment. None of them were Fred.

_In my dreams I'll always see you soar above the sky,_

_In my heart there'll always be a place for you for all my life,_

He leant back against his the now closed door to his suite, the dim lights of LA nightlife filtered through his windows, illuminating the room with a soft yet cold glow, outlining to furniture as well as allowing their daunting shadows to creep up the walls.

The adrenaline rush from earlier in the day was fading fast, his limbs felt heavy, almost lead-like, his head was spinning and he even felt slightly guilty for stabbing Gunn but not enough to make himself feel bad over it.

He stumbled over to his desk and put the box down, he reached inside and lifted out a picture of them all at the Hyperion, all happy, all smiling, before Cordelia had died, before Spike had joined them, before Wolfram & Hart. When they were simply soldiers fighting the good fight. When even though they were nothing more than pawns in a war that had raged for a centuries before them and would continue for centuries after them they still had each other. Still foolishly clinging to the naïve hope that they could make a change. How come they saved complete strangers every day but could not save one of t heir own? How come they couldn't save Fred? If it had been a client Angel would have come up with a way to save her, what if they had taken the sarcophagus and Fred had gone with them as well? Surely then no one else would have gotten infected . . .

He shook his head that wasn't right, it wasn't Angel's fault, or Spike's, it wasn't even Gunn's, and even though he had tried to convince himself otherwise it wasn't his either. There were only two people who's fault it was and that was Illyria's herself and Knox's. Knox was dead and, unlike what he'd thought, it didn't make him feel any better, if anything it made it worse and he couldn't kill Illyria, not now. Even if it were possible he doubted he held the mental strength to do it. Swinging that axe the first time had been hard enough to do it again would be shear torture. Torture he would not be able to endure.

_I'll keep a part of you with me,_

_And everywhere I am, there'll you be,_

_And everywhere I am, there'll you be,_

He set the photograph on his desk, running his fingers over Fred's soft features once more, a single tear pelting the glass that held the picture in place before he leant over the desk, palms gripping the edges tightly as he squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn't going to cry it wouldn't bring her back, it would never bring her back. He didn't even have the comfort of believing that she'd gone to "a better place" her soul was destroyed during the transfer, she was gone, it was like she'd never existed, there would be no funeral, no ceremony, no tombstone, her parents-oh god her parents . . . what would he tell them? She'd asked, no pleaded, that he tell them that it was quick that she wasn't scared. But she had been, so scared, so, so scared, so pale, so fragile. 

She'd said she walked with heroes. She didn't even think of herself as a hero, she never had done, not from the moment she'd met them right up to her dying day. Yet she was a hero, more of a hero than he would ever be. Everyone was a better hero than he was.

Gunn had been fighting vampires since he was twelve, _twelve, _a mere boy, stumbling into a world of evil and of violence, vowing to stop it.

Doyle, whom he'd never met but had heard so much about, he'd died saving an entire family of half demons.

Cordelia, when he'd first met her had been a shallow, self obsessive cheerleader and he'd watched her grow into a wise young woman, who bore the pain or some many people on her shoulders and still she fought on, even when she saw with her own eyes how hopeless their fight was. Her perseverance killed her in the end.

Angel, well not much needed to be said, the original vampire with a soul, risking his unlife every day to save others even when he barely knew them. Wesley still remembered the vampire's eyes lighting up when they had discovered the true meaning of the word Shanshu, and then realising that after fighting for so long Angel wasn't doing it for the reward, in fact he didn't even believe in the reward, he was doing it for the sake of doing it. Because he couldn't help but care.

Spike, seemingly the only vampire that had been able to without a soul, unconditionally love someone, well that he had ever met or read about anyhow. The one who had gotten a soul of his own accord and stayed fighting the good fight. Remembering once more the Pavayne situation Wesley felt, if anything even more useless; Spike could save Fred but he couldn't.

What had he done? He'd been trained as a watcher, believing solely that that was the only thing he was capable of. Only to fail at what had appeared to be his purpose in life when Faith had killed an innocent man and Buffy had deserted the council. He'd even failed at being a rogue demon hunter, hunting the wrong demon and falling, accidentally into the lap of Angel and Cordelia's detective agency. His hunting of the wrong demon had nearly gotten Cordelia killed.

_You showed me how it feels,_

_I feel the sky within my reach,_

Fred was his true north and now she was gone it was like he was spinning out of control. He didn't know which way was up, which was down, left or right. He didn't even know what he was doing, or where he was going.

All he knew is it had to stop.

She'd been gone hours and it was just getting worse, his head pounding, the world spinning, his eyes hazing over to the point he could barely see.

He let out a single sob as he tucked his chin into his chest but refused to let any more out, no matter how hard he tried he couldn't stop the tears that burned his eyes or the sobs that tore at his throat, desperate to be released.

He opened his eyes again, and found he was staring straight into the face of Feigenbaum, Fred's stuffed rabbit that had sat in it's proud place on her desk until he had cleared her stuff out.

Straightening up he wiped at his face with the back of one hand whilst picking up Feigenbaum with the other.

He thumbed the worn fur of his stomach, and ran one finger of his other hand across his face.

_And I always will remember all the strength you gave to me,_

_Your love made me make it through,_

_Oh, I owe so much to you,_

_You were right there for me,_

"Where are you now Winifred?" he whispered to the rabbit or himself, he wasn't really sure, and to be honest he didn't really care. "Where are you when I need you most?" the smile that was sewn on to Feigenbaum's face taunting him, but he kept looking at it "Winifred, my Winifred" he breathed, the tears creating velvety tracks down his face and into the collar of his shirt.

He glanced back down at the photograph. Her bright smile, making even Angel, who had objected strongly to it's being taken, grin as well, she was stood at the front and in the centre, her being the shortest of the gang, closely followed by Cordelia. He, Gunn, Angel and Groo stood in the background. Groo, although not technically a member of the team was still a fighter, still fought on their side and was almost scarily loyal to Cordelia.

Her brown locks curled gently, falling about her shoulders and framing her face in an awesome abandon. The chocolate brown of the orbs that were her eyes were huge and friendly, her smile spreading to those as well.

_In my dreams I'll always see you soar above the sky,_

_In my heart there'll always be a place for you for all my life,_

_I'll keep a part of you with me,_

Picking up the frame once more he headed for his bedroom, placing the frame on his bedside table and Feigenbaum with it he went back through to his suite and locked the door, collecting the box of Fred's possessions on the way.

His room was equally as dark as his office, the huge windows allowing the light from the city to filter through, casting delicate shadows across his bed and up the walls, he put the box in a chair in the corner and turned his back on it, facing the window.

Putting her things in that thing had been hard enough, getting them out again would be ten times harder, he turned his back on it and surveyed his room under a critical gaze.

Fred's room was warm, not just in temperature but in colour, soft reds had adorned her furniture, allowing an almost fiery glow to bathe her apartment.

His own suite was cold and empty, simple blues, nothing personal littered the room, having been brought up to be perfectly tidy.

No pictures on the walls, no books out of place, no clothes on the backs of chairs. It was like no one lived there at all. And that thought made him feel sick to the stomach.

_'Coz I always saw in you my light, my strength,_

_And I wanna thank you now for all the ways,_

_You were right there for me,_

Where lamps had softly lit Fred's bedroom, a single overhead light lit his, well it would do if it were turned on, but he could not bring himself to flick the switch.

Fred had said that the light hurt her eyes but she'd wanted it on, the pain made her sure she was still there, meant that her light wasn't going out yet. It meant there was still hope.

It had been false hope.

Where photographs had been left about her mirror and on her dresser, only one photograph stood on his nightstand and that was the one from Fred's office.

Where clothes had been strewn neatly about the place, his were all hung not a crease in sight in the closet.

His room lacked clutter. Something that made Fred such a warm person so relaxed. She was shy yet when she spoke she spoke volumes, she seemed to bottle up everything she had to say before blurting it out all in one breathe confusing those who did not understand and blessing those who loved her with the sound of her voice and pleasant laugh when they asked for a translation.

_In my dreams I'll always see you soar above the sky,_

_In my heart there'll always be a place for you for all my life,_

_I'll keep a part of you with me,_

He glanced at the box as he turned around, away from the window and saw a magazine sticking out. Despite his earlier silent vow not to touch the box again 'til morning he went over and pulled the magazine out, flicking absently through the pages he stopped when he reached page nineteen, written at the top in clear black font was _Super Symmetry and P-Dimensional Subspace by Winifred Burkle._

He felt the burning become unbearable as he sat on the edge of his bed; the article still clutched firmly in his hands.

He didn't read any further, he was physically incapable off, the grief over taking him, and fatigue washing over his trembling body as the sobs tore non-to gently through his throat. He heaved great gulps of air, his throat barely open enough to allow him to exhale never mind breathe anything in, instead unsteady dry hitching gasps ripped through him, making his head spin.

His eyes swam in pools of salty water, the tears flowing unabated, and heavily, so heavily in fact it hurt.

The tears slid from his chin and onto the paper, slowly blurring the text, along with her name. Soon, the name too was gone. Just like Fred.

_And everywhere I am, there'll you be,_

_There'll you'll be._


End file.
